A Pilgrim’s Progress: Checking Mecca Off My Bucket List

Times Insider delivers behind-the-scenes insights into how news, features and opinion come together at The New York Times. In this article, Diaa Hadid, a correspondent in The Times’s Jerusalem bureau, shares what delighted her (pilgrims eating ice cream, helicopter rides over holy sites) and disturbed her (ever-failing WiFi, official answers to tough questions) about her first trip to Mecca.

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“Pilgrims surprised me with their warmth.”CreditDiaa Hadid/The New York Times

MECCA, Saudi Arabia — When I first arrived in Mecca to begin my pilgrimage, it was the small things that delighted me, like the birds that flocked around the Grand Mosque, the pilgrims eating ice cream, and the wheelchair pushers, particularly the young men who liked to race down hills in the evening.

I was surprised to find out that I enjoyed praying. Pilgrims surprised me with their warmth — like Mervat, the veiled Yemeni cardiologist who put her face veil on the floor for me to pray on. I met men and women who were eager to tell me their hopes and dreams.

I had to figure out my relationships with the Saudi officials who were hosting my trip. They were kind and generous, and kept us moving, fed and sheltered — no easy feat in the annual hajj, a five-day series of rituals that brings a flood of 2 million Muslims to the kingdom, and in 2015 resulted in a crush that killed 2,300 people.

But they also kept dodging questions about the crush. They dodged questions about why pilgrims from Iran — their rival country — could not come this year, even though it was their religious right. And they insisted on my having a minder. Luckily, he was an excellent guide and a good sport. Plus, as a guest of the Ministry of Information and Culture, I had perks: nicer accommodations, decent food and three helicopter rides over the holy sites!

The whole endeavor was something of a journalistic experiment, as well as a personal journey. My editors and I decided to cover the pilgrimage not so much as a news event but as a first-person diary of observations and reflections. We produced a series of daily postcards, driven by videos and snapshots I made on my iPhone and Canon Mark III camera.

Our aim was to bring readers along with us to Islam’s holiest sites, and at the same time to debunk stereotypes about Muslims. We wanted to show their diversity and humanity, and to capture both the solemn spiritual moments and the quirky oddities of this centuries-old event.

For me — an Australian of Lebanese-Egyptian heritage who grew up in a religiously observant family but lives as an adult a secular lifestyle guided by Islamic values — it was a journey I had dreamed of making for a long time. I wondered throughout how it might change me.

I had to learn patience: We were always delayed, which meant I missed stories I wanted to do and lost precious daylight hours for taking photographs. I rarely slept more than four hours a night over a week, or ate more than once a day. That, mixed with the heat, my long hours outside and the ever-failing WiFi, brought out my short temper.

But the rituals brought out other things as well. Stoning the pillars of Jamarat that symbolize the devil had a power I never imagined. Praying on Mount Arafat, where Muslims believe their supplications are answered, sent me to tears. The Grand Mosque surrounding the Kaaba, the iconic black cube, felt like a comfortable cloak.

I bunked with smart, fun women in our 500-member V.I.P. delegation, including 100 journalists. On my last day of stoning the three pillars, I was with Raghdah, a liberal Saudi woman charged with caring for our quarters. We clutched hands to duck and weave through the crowd and hurled our stones. When we finished, she turned to me brightly. “Let’s take a selfie with the devil!” she said, referring to the pillar behind us. I burst out laughing — this was a moment I had never imagined.

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“Let’s take a selfie with the devil!” Raghdah said, referring to a pillar outside the photo’s purview.CreditDiaa Hadid/The New York Times

As we walked through crowds, we saw a group of Indonesian pilgrims, chanting in praise, hoping God would accept their hajj, one of the five pillars of Islam required of every adherent at least once in her lifetime. After the Indonesians finished singing, they began crying and hugging. They hugged and kissed me and Raghdah as well.

And then came my last rite, to circle the Kaaba seven times in farewell.

I walked barefoot across the cool marble to the looming Kaaba, also called the House of God. The heavy black cloth draped over that enormous cube was so close that I could read part of the golden calligraphy etched around it: “God is Great.”

I raised my head, seeing the birds above me — from there, it did look as if they circled the Kaaba in a kind of ritual of their own.

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When I was preparing for the hajj, the holy Muslim pilgrimage to Mecca, Saudi Arabia, my brother warned me of a peril in the skies: the birds.Published OnSept. 10, 2016

A withered, elderly Pakistani man with watery blue eyes and a snow-cone turban leaned on another pilgrim’s shoulder for support, so he would not be pulled into the crowd. He chanted prayers in a high, sweet voice. I walked beside them until we were separated in the crowd. Somebody’s mobile phone pealed. Some read prayer books as they walked. One elderly man fainted, and the crowd cleared as he was carried away.

My brother, who made the hajj in 2012, was right: It felt as if I was being carried on a sea of humanity. I leaned on others, and a young woman leaned on me, holding my back as she walked through a tight crowd. I took her hand and kissed it, a sign of affection and humility, before she melted into the crowd again. I began sidestepping women wearing long robes that trailed on the ground; if I stepped on a hem, someone could trip and set off a human pileup.

An elderly woman put her hand on my shoulder. Worried she was about to fall, I put my hand on hers to steady her. She kissed my hand in thanks and then disappeared.

So did my iPhone, which must have slipped from my hand. Whoever picked it up will see on the camera app a man who held his toddler as he walked. She had large black eyes, and the pilgrims who passed her reached out to touch her hand and pinch her cheek.

They will see an African lady who balanced a bottle of water on her head. They will see close-ups of hands clutching each other, and thousands of feet, walking. They will see me raising my phone high, showing the crowd behind me, and a man waving into the camera. They will see me saying into the phone that I hope to return on hajj with my mother and sisters. Maybe they will even catch the pedantic Egyptian who ordered me to roll down my sleeves.

The sea was mostly silent save for the murmur of prayer.

I wanted to see the Kaaba up close because I thought that if I could lean close to that structure maybe I would feel the passion of faith some more. But I felt numb, even as I repeated words of praise and thanks. How can I ask of God, when I feel that I have been given so much?

I thought a lot about what might happen when I return to Jerusalem, where I live and work as a correspondent for The Times.

I felt a spirit of goodness right in my bones when I prayed and when people were kind to each other, like the pilgrims who carried away the elderly man who fainted by the Kaaba. I want more of that in my life.

Still, as I watched people cry when they saw the Kaaba, I had no tears. Instead, I thought, boy, it’s empty on the inside. This is just a symbol. This is God’s house, but the creator doesn’t live here. I realized that, for me, the real story was outside the Kaaba, among people.